


The Very Pulse of the Machine

by tungstenpincenez



Series: The Green that Never Dies [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Sibling Incest, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 15:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12192828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tungstenpincenez/pseuds/tungstenpincenez
Summary: All of a sudden, Sherlock wants to celebrate milestones.





	The Very Pulse of the Machine

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [Of Quiet Thoughts Protracted](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9577289)

Mycroft was fidgeting, had been all morning. He first became aware of this when he reached for his cup of tea and realized it was placed on the other side of his desk. In fact, the entire surface had been rearranged at some point. He spent several minutes setting things right.

Now, as he gave up reading the latest report from the ORR, he noticed that he’d been twirling his gold ring. He wondered that Andrea had not checked on him. For that matter, that he’d received no texts from his brother, given that Sherlock’s phone could also track the signal. He wondered if this was a nervous tell and made a mental note to review the video feeds. It would not do to have tells.

He sipped his tea and allowed the nagging thought at the back of his mind to surface. He once again doubted the purchase of those pots of daffodils to adorn the dining room. It was, of course, too late to cancel the delivery to the manor house. Mrs. Barrymore most certainly would have arranged them on the sideboard by now. And begun preparations on the dinner.

Dinner. Mycroft had been completely taken aback two weeks ago when Sherlock announced that they’d be celebrating their anniversary and left the details to him. Anniversaries, like birthdays, went unobserved by both of them. Only Mummy insisted on the annual birthday phone call, and woe befall them if they weren’t available to talk.

Sherlock had refused to disclose his reasons for this sudden desire. Mycroft had been puzzling over this as he’d made the arrangements. He could only conclude that, having now ceased to repress memories and knowledge of Eurus, his brother’s true emotional self was manifesting. Mycroft shuddered at the thought of having to celebrate all the milestones that marked the passing of years and of time that the goldfish insisted were necessary. John Watson, now a _father_ , would definitely make Sherlock worse than ever.

But as his thoughts turned back to tonight’s observances, an unconscious smile graced Mycroft’s features. He recalled how, ten years ago, Sherlock had barged into his rooms and declared he was ready for sex. After that first time, they’d agreed that sex on a regular basis, every other month or so, would suffice to maintain their physical well-being. Of course, whenever Sherlock came to him for help to soothe his tumultuous mind of overstimulation (or cure it of boredom), Mycroft wisely did not comment. These unexpected encounters always reminded him of the times a young Sherlock would interrupt him for a story or an adventure outdoors.

And in spite the times Sherlock would threaten to make known that they were involved in a forbidden relationship, he never followed through. Mycroft knew his brother believed he feared the loss of prestige and power as his reasons for keeping their relationship secret when it was fear that he would lose the ability to extricate Sherlock from any dangerous situation and bring him to safety that was key. The threat that Eurus posed was now gone, but his brother would always find himself in trouble—of his own making and too often and disruptive for Mycroft’s liking—and since he adamantly refused to avoid getting into harm’s way, there was naught to be done but minimize the impact. And fallout.

Mycroft sighed. It was almost lunch hour. As he would be away from the office the following day, there were a few things to tidy and finalize in the afternoon to ensure he would not return to any crisis that could have been prevented but for a lack of diligence and foresight, the latter, especially, being the reason he was put in this position of responsibility.

***

Sherlock could not suppress an impish grin at Mycroft’s surprised look when he opened the door. He’d always taken delight in being unpredictable where his brother was concerned. Too often, Mycroft had thwarted his clever plans, making him feel five years old, the stupid one.

As his brother closed the door, Sherlock manoeuvred him so that they were face to face; he pushed his brother against the door and greeted him with the first kiss of the evening. Mycroft returned the kiss with equal fervour.

They untangled themselves, and Sherlock presented the gift bag. Mycroft’s brow quirked in amusement at the box of dark chocolates and looked approvingly at the bottle of wine. Gesturing, he led the way to the dining room.

Now, it was Sherlock’s turn to be surprised. The entire sideboard was covered in daffodils. As a sherry was pressed into his hand, he placed a quick kiss to Mycroft’s cheek and noted the nervous smile relax into one of fondness. He frowned but did not pursue the issue when his brother shook his head. They relaxed into the chairs by the fireplace and discussed creative applications of 3D printing, the latest scandal in the Serious Fraud Office, and a new possibility that had occurred to Mycroft, during his budget meeting with the DCMS, regarding solving the Riemann hypothesis. 

Having sufficiently wound down, they proceeded to put the finishing touches to their dinner and enjoyed a pleasantly silent meal.

They cleaned the dishes (Mummy would have been astonished at Sherlock’s proficiency) and retired to the sitting room with their digestifs. A clue from a Met cold case was deliberated and a new line of inquiry established after Mycroft pointed out that November 17, 1984 was the day of the Northern Sumatra earthquake.

Sherlock suddenly leaped out of his seat and declared he was off for a shower, after which he had a gift to give before they had sex. Mycroft watched him saunter off with amusement. He cleared up the glasses, shut the downstairs rooms for the evening, and prepared for his turn in the _en suite_ bathroom.

A berobed Sherlock was propped in bed by the time Mycroft left the bathroom similarly garbed. He smiled and pressed a kiss to his brother’s lips as he joined him. They were thus occupied for several minutes before a breathless Sherlock removed a small box from his pocket and revealed its contents, a silver ring.

Grabbing hold of Mycroft’s right hand, he replaced the gold band with his gift. “It’s about time you upgraded. Q owes me a few favours. He grumbled when I asked him to include aluminium into the alloy but seemed impressed when I insisted on the diamond laser. You’ll need to twist the band to activate it. And obviously the tracking device and morphine vial are included.”

Mycroft thanked him with a kiss. “I’m surprised Q agreed. You did lift this gold one from his arsenal,” he said as he put his old ring into the box and placed it atop his night table.

Sherlock snorted. “I lifted it from 007 when we were on the Sudan mission. Q believes it was lost along with the other equipment Bond failed to return.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. Then, from the top drawer of his night table, he removed a slim envelope and presented it. 

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at the plane ticket. “Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. Boarding at 1100 hours tomorrow.” He suddenly beamed as he realized its significance.

His brother smiled. “It is only for three weeks to solve their most perplexing cold case. They didn’t feel it necessary to prepare two others, but I insisted. And even though you have unfettered access to such highly classified materials, you will not be allowed to freely roam the Pentagon. So, behave, brother mine; don’t make me regret this.”

Sherlock smirked and Mycroft knew better than to demand his word of honour. If his brother did manage to evade their security, well, it was useful information.

As Sherlock straddled Mycroft and began peppering him with kisses, he murmured, “Mrs. Hudson sends her congratulations.” Mycroft cradled his brother’s head in his hands to interrupt the display of affection. Sherlock huffed and said, “She’s known for a while, apparently. And Mummy’s the one who told her. Father doesn’t know, though.”

Mycroft blinked. After a moment’s pause, he said, “He does.” At Sherlock’s incredulity, he said, “It was a passing conversation, when you first started showing up at DI Lestrade’s crime scenes. He said he knew he could depend on me to keep you safe… and fulfilled.” He sighed. “It’s why he was so upset when I told him about Eurus. I don’t quite understand, but it relates to his hopes for grandchildren finally being dashed.”

Sherlock frowned. “Surely he doesn’t expect her to produce children.”

Mycroft shrugged. “As I said, I don’t understand. Perhaps the shock befuddled him.”

“Perhaps. Happy Anniversary, brother mine.” He tried to lean in and huffed in frustration as his brother kept a firm hold on him. “If you weren’t interested, you could have said so.”

Mycroft loosened his grip to place a reassuring kiss. “I merely wanted to know why you felt the need to commemorate this.”

Sherlock contemplated his reply. They never discussed feelings. Finally, he said, “When you offered up your life to save John and me, I realized the sum of our conflicts far outweighed moments of regard. I wished I could have left you with better memories. Having survived, I thought we could begin with this. And to convince you that while sentiment is found on the losing side, in some instances, winning is overrated.”

Mycroft allowed their distance to become non-existent.

**Author's Note:**

> I felt the need to clarify some of the statements in [Thoughts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9577289) as well as tie-in [Round-Tower](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11385705). And I always wanted to write what domesticity would be like, Holmes-style. Bondlock is canon, so I couldn’t resist including an allusion. Hope that’s ok.
> 
> Title taken from Wordsworth’s “She was a Phantom of Delight”.
> 
> Now has a sequel: [The Dews of Your Melody scatter Delight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12705048)


End file.
